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The Spiked Heel

She came back in about ten minutes, a sheared beaver coat slung over her arm. He could see the embroidered name “Jean Knowles” on the lining of the coat, and he knew she had borrowed it from her mother or her sister, and this somehow combined with the secondhand greeting she’d given him to put a sour taste in his mouth. He took the coat and helped her into it.

“Will I need an umbrella?” she asked.

“It was only drizzling when I came in,” he said.

“Okay, we’ll skip the umbrella.” She smiled brightly. “Shall we go?”

“Any time you say.”

“I say now,” she said.

She threw the snap lock on the apartment door and slammed the door behind her. When they reached the foyer of the building, they looked out at the sidewalk. It was pouring bullets, the rain coming in sharp slanting sheets.

“Drizzle,” she said. “I’ll go back for the umbrella.”

“I’ll come with you,” he said guiltily.

“No, that’s all right.”

He stood alone and looked out at the rain, waiting for her return. He was disappointed thus far, but he told himself to snap out of it, everything would work out, what the hell did he expect so soon, their first date, did he want her to greet him on the living-room couch, her skirt up over her head? The thought startled him a bit because he had not seriously considered the idea of taking Cara Knowles to bed until just now. He toyed with the idea for a moment, and then put it out of his mind, not realizing that the idea was all a part of his initial disappointment, not realizing that he had already disqualified her as any serious contender for his heart. When she returned with the umbrella, he opened it for her and stepped out into the rain first. It was a woman’s umbrella, dainty and small. She climbed under it and he found half of his body in the rain, and this annoyed the hell out of him, even though he’d willingly walked in the rain without any covering before.

“We certainly picked a night, didn’t we?” she said.

“It doesn’t matter much,” he told her. “We’ve got a car, and we’ll be inside most of the night anyway.”

“I like rain, anyway,” she said. “Sometimes I just put on a raincoat and galoshes and go walking up the Concourse in the rain. It’s very soothing.”

He had the feeling that she had said this many times, too. “Is it?” he asked.

“If you like rain,” she answered, smiling.

They reached the car, and he unlocked the door for her and helped her in. He went around to his side and stood in the rain for several moments before she realized his door was locked and slid over to open it for him.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t realize—”

“That’s all right,” he said. “Rain makes you grow.”

“You’ve had enough tonight to make you another McQuade.”

The reference bothered him. He told himself it was male vanity, but it still bothered him. He was not exactly a half pint, even if he were not as tall as McQuade. He started the car and swung around to the Concourse.

“One good thing about rain,” he said, “it keeps folks at home. We’ll have a dance floor we can really dance on.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I thought one of the places up on Central Avenue.”

“Oh, fine,” she said. “This is a good night for drinking and dancing, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” He wanted to say more but he couldn’t find words. He shut up, painfully aware of the silence that had shouldered its way into the car.

“This is a nice car,” she said. “What is it?”

“Oldsmobile,” he answered.

“It’s very nice.”

“Well, it gets me where I want to go.” The cliché rang in his ears. He almost winced.

“That’s the important thing, I suppose.” She paused. “Did you notice I’m wearing Julien Kahn shoes?”

“I noticed them right off. Black Magic.”

“Is that their name?”